I made a posy, while the day ran by:
Here will I smell my remnants out, and tie
My
life within this band.
But time did beckon to the flowers, and they
By noon most cunningly did steal away,
And
withered in my hand.
My hand was next to them, and then my heart:
I took, without more thinking, in good part
Time's
gentle admonition:
Who did so sweetly death's sad taste convey,
Making my mind to smell my fatal day;
Yet
sug'ring the suspicion.
Farewell, dear flowers, sweetly your time ye spent,
Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament,
And
after death for cures.
I follow straight without complaints or grief,
Since if my scent be good, I care not, if
It
be as short as yours.
